Seablood

by Cameron Bolling

  “Well, I’m just glad you’re all right,” she said, then paused. “Is everything all right? You aren’t usually here so early, and—well, you seem upset.”

  “It’s nothing,” said Oleja, not in anger, she realized, but in disappointment. The muscles in her throat pulled in tighter, closing up. Her eyes stung.

  “I won’t press you. I’m sorry.”

  Oleja worked in silence for a few minutes, but her attention stayed on Sreovel. Emotions continued battling for her attention despite her attempts to force them back.

  And then she snapped.

  “It’s just…” she started, her voice shaking. “It’s just that everything I’ve done since I got here has been a complete failure. I need to get back to my people. I need to save them, and I need Ahwan to help me, but no one will. And no matter what I do to show them I’m worthy, they see only a confused girl who doesn’t understand their customs and their ways.”

  “I see,” said Sreovel quietly after a moment’s pause.

  “I attempted the trials. The Seablood Trials, they called them. And I lost. It was my last shot. I thought…” the words stalled on her tongue for a moment as she debated speaking them, but then they tumbled out of their own accord. “I thought I could win. I thought for sure I could win, because I was meant to. Because I’m skyborn. I already learned there’s no great fated destiny to that title, but I still trick myself, tell myself that title means whatever I make it mean—that for me, it can mean I’m a hero. But clearly I wasn’t fated to win, because I lost.” A tear dripped from her cheek, splashing onto the surface of the workbench.

  “Is Helis Sniveer the first trial this year?” asked Sreovel.

  “Yes,” said Oleja, frustration rising in her voice. “I don’t see why that matters.”

  “It matters because I outfit all of the king’s guards and soldiers with weapons and armor. And in order to do that, I have to observe them fighting—familiarize myself with their individual forms and such so I can best supply them with weapons and armor that plays to their strengths and covers their weaknesses. And I was a tactician once. I know Helis’s tells.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve never shared such compromising information on the king’s guards, but I will share what I know with you, if you wish. I do not know your cause, but I believe it is a noble one.”

  Oleja paused and looked up. Sreovel sat hunched over her bench, eyes still cast down at her work.

  “What are tells?”

  “A habit that a fighter has. Usually something they do before they attack that lets you know what to expect before they do it. Every fighter has them, but few can master the skill of observing an opponent’s tells during a fight and employing them in the moment.”

  Intrigue and hope drew Oleja up from her stool. She crossed the room quickly until she stood on the other side of Sreovel’s bench.

  “Tell me.”

  Sreovel clasped her hands and met Oleja’s eyes. After a deep breath, she spoke. “Before Helis strikes, he readjusts his glaive to the side he plans to strike with, of course, but even before that he clenches the grip of one hand—the side from which his next strike will come. Any opponent could beat him by noticing this. A glaive is a dangerous weapon, especially in the hands of a skilled fighter like Helis, but his is heavy—optimized for forceful strikes, not hasty ones. Watch which side he plans to strike from, wait until he is in the process of shifting his glaive and readying the strike, then swing for his exposed side. He will not be able to counter the movements in time.”

  The longer the woman spoke, the more awed Oleja became. Could Helis truly be beaten in such an easy manner—just by watching his hands, through which he gave away all of his plans?

  She had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. If any chance of success remained, she had to take it.

  But then her shoulders slumped again. “Would they let me try a second time to beat the trial?”

  “Anyone can enter the trials today, most just choose to do it at the ceremony with the audience around—more exciting that way, I suppose. But those who wish to are permitted to approach Helis and the king before or after, as long as they do it on this day. I do not know if they will allow a second chance—I don’t think any precedent exists for such a thing—but I see no good reason not to try.”

  Hope surged through Oleja anew. It seemed one final chance lay before her after all.

  Oleja nodded and hefted her spear into her grip. “Then I had best go find my opponent. He has at least one more fight today.”

  Sreovel smiled. “I wish you all the luck in the world, Oleja. For you, and for your people.”

  With a nod, Oleja set out through the doors of the forge, then broke into a sprint as she bounded down the path. She had a trial to beat.

  “Helis Sniveer!” Oleja called out. Only a few people still milled about in the plaza. Workers broke down the tiered benches and carried the slats of wood off to load into carts. A few small groups of people chatted here and there. Helis stood with two other guards and the king at the base of the king’s platform.

  Helis threw a glance back over his shoulder, but when his eyes landed on Oleja, his face hardened.

  “I am here to challenge you and enter the Seablood Trials!”

  “You took your swing at that once already,” Helis called back, “and you failed to hit hard enough.”

  “Helis…” said the king, an eyebrow raised.

  “Apologies, your majesty,” said Helis, aiming a cold glare in Oleja’s direction.

  Oleja continued. “I wish to try once more.”

  “We have never given anyone a second attempt,” said Helis. “It is not the way of the trials.”

  “Has anyone ever requested a retrial?” the king asked, turning to Helis. Helis paused, his smirk slipping.

  “Not in my time as your champion, no.”

  “Nor at any other point in the history of the trials, as far as my memory goes,” said the king, combing his fingers through his coppery-grey beard. “We will give her another chance, if for no other reason than so I can watch her fight again. She has a very fascinating form. Where did you learn it?”

  “I taught it to myself.”

  “Interesting.”

  Helis took a long breath. “As you wish, your majesty.” The look he gave Oleja showed none of the same respect. Oleja donned a new set of armor and the pair moved to the center of the square, surrounded by ranks of empty benches. The few stragglers who still lingered in the square noticed Helis and Oleja taking up their stances in the middle and hurried to grab seats on the bottom benches. They looked on with wide grins; for them, the spectacle continued.

  “You have entered the Seablood Trials. Five trials lie before you now. The first—”

  “I accept the terms.”

  “Then your trials now commence, again.” muttered Helis. This time, Oleja lunged first.

  She took a wild swing, pulling Helis into the fray at once, and then ducked back, assuming a defensive stance. After dodging her swing, Helis raised his glaive. Oleja kept her attention on his hands. Her fate—and the fate of her people—now depended upon Sreovel’s information proving true.

  Helis’s left hand tightened on the handle of his glaive. In a blur of motion, he shifted left and then swung. Oleja caught the blow easily on her spear.

  Perfect.

  She threw another two strikes to push him back and then took up the defense again. Helis blocked her swings and took a step to the side.

  Again, the grip of his left hand tightened, and then he raised his glaive.

  Oleja darted left even as he raised the weapon, swinging with her spear with lightning speed to match his own. As she moved, Helis tried to correct his positioning, but Oleja retained the upper hand. The shaft of her spear connected hard with his side, crashing against his ribs. He grunted and buckled but stayed up.

  They matched each other’s blows again and again until another opportunity arose for Oleja to strike. Helis took up a stance to ready a heavy blo
w. This time, he tightened his grip on the right. As he raised the glaive, Oleja leapt right and dealt a hard blow to his left hip, following it up by driving her shoulder hard into his side. He staggered back a few steps but then regained his stance. Fury burned hot in his eyes.

  “You’ve gotten quick in the last hour,” he said, his voice low. Oleja shot him a half smile but kept her eyes on his hands. He revealed everything through his hands.

  Helis charged in for a powerful strike, catching Oleja off guard. The butt of his glaive connected with her shoulder, sending a shock of pain arcing through her arm, but she kept her grip firm on her spear. This was her last chance, and she would not lose it.

  Helis readied another strike from his left. Power welled in Oleja as she braced herself.

  She went left as he swung his blade, moving quickly until she stood behind him. His swing made his balance teeter, but already he turned around to put her back in his line of sight.

  But the brilliance of her barbaric tactics came from her ability to strike where her opponent wasn’t looking.

  Oleja rushed forwards, spear braced in front of her, and slammed Helis hard in the back. He lurched, feet scrambling on the cobblestones, desperately trying to regain his balance. Oleja swung out a sweeping kick with her prosthetic, catching Helis’s ankle in the crook of the metal. With one final flailing of his arms, he fell face-first to the ground.

  His glaive hit the stone at his side with a piercing clang that reverberated off the buildings all around them. Helis’s armored body fell next, creating an even louder and more chaotic cacophony of noise. And then the air in the square fell still.

  “Victory to the challenger!” called the king. Oleja didn’t raise her eyes from Helis as he hoisted himself up onto his feet. She wanted to remember that moment for years to come.

  When at last Helis regained his footing, he glared at Oleja with the heat of a hundred deserts. She didn’t care—she had bested the first trial. Only four more lay between her and her new title as the hero of Ahwan, and once she gained that power, becoming the hero of her people lay only a short leap away.

  The king approached the two of them. “Well done. Oleja, was it? Oleja Raseari? You’re the one who came to my palace not too long ago.”

  Oleja raised an eyebrow. Clearly his memory was not what it should be if he remembered her only vaguely rather than in stark detail. But she would pick no fight with him, not now after at last finding a foothold in her path towards leading the people of Ahwan in the fight against Itsoh. She kept her mouth shut and nodded her answer instead.

  “Well, I am glad to see you rise up in such a manner. I do like you quite a bit, in case that wasn’t clear from our last meeting,” said the king. He studied her curiously, a faint glimmer in his eye. He held a hand out to her, and she shook it. His grip was gentle, though firm; as always, she put more strength in her own.

  “Here,” said Helis in a sharp and quick voice as he passed off a cloth bundle to Oleja. She took it and unwrapped the folds.

  Inside the bundle lay three containers: two clear glass jars and a wooden box. Atop the lids of the jars were two symbols; the first showed a triangle with five crisscrossing, branching lines at the top point, and the second displayed the symbol of Ahwan. Carved into the lid of the wooden box was another symbol: a five-sided shape between two jagged zigzags that looked like stairs descending to form a wide V shape. Alongside the three containers rested a roll of paper bound with a silk ribbon.

  “These are the tools you will need for the next three trials,” said the king. He pointed to the first jar, the one bearing the triangle symbol. “Into this jar you will collect snow from our highest peak. It will melt before you return of course, but that is fine.” Next, he pointed to the box. “Into this box you will collect iron ore from the desert hills to the south. And in here…” he pointed to the last jar, the one with the Ahwan symbol, “you will collect our city’s sacred element, called seablood. Its symbol is the symbol of our city, and its fire is the same fire our hero, Aila Aukai, used to light the valley and bring our people out of the dark days that followed the death of the Old World many centuries ago. Collect all three materials and return, and you will be allowed to attempt the final trial. Any questions?”

  “Yeah, what’s this?” asked Oleja, pointing to the paper.

  “That map will guide you to each of the next three trials,” said the king.

  With a thanks and some parting words, and after shedding her armor and leaving behind the spear that Helis and the king made sure to mention this time around that she couldn’t keep, Oleja set off down the street. She felt Helis’s eyes on her as she left, but she didn’t do him the favor of returning the gesture. Turning a corner down a new street, she set her course for Wil and Brashen’s house to reunite with Tor.

  After arriving at their doorstep and going inside, she found the two of them sitting at the table with Cyrah. They talked in harsh, low voices, but when she entered, they all fell silent at once.

  “Well, you don’t knock,” said Wil.

  “Oleja!” breathed Cyrah and Brashen in matching sighs of relief.

  Tor leapt at her side, licking her arm and nuzzling her forcefully with his snout.

  “We were about to spread out and look for you,” said Cyrah. “Do you have any idea how unbelievably—”

  “I won the first trial.”

  Cyrah faltered. Brashen and Wil snapped their attention to her in an instant.

  “Wil said you lost,” said Cyrah.

  “I did—the first time.”

  “They let you try again?” asked Brashen.

  “I didn’t give them much of a choice, but yes.”

  “So… you’re heading out, then. You’re leaving the city,” said Cyrah.

  Oleja nodded. “Soon. I had to come and get Tor, and I still need some supplies. Plus, I wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye. And I have a question for you.”

  “What is it?” asked Cyrah.

  “What is snow?”

  Wil let out a huff of laughter. Brashen slapped his arm.

  “It’s the white stuff all over the tops of the mountains,” said Cyrah. “It’s ice, but like a powder. Falls like rain when the air is cold.”

  “Ah. Thanks. And what is—”

  “I’ve made that climb before, up the mountain you’re headed to,” said Cyrah, launching quickly into the story. “Not as part of the trials, of course, but with some of the other researchers. It’s the tallest peak for miles and miles around, so it’s the closest to the stars we could get. I think that probably gives it some special properties, so I brought back some of the snow—water now—and some rocks from the peak for me to use in my rituals and meditation. It’s a tough climb, but you are stronger than me. Still, it’s important that you go gradually up the slopes. Let yourself acclimate to the thinner air, because it gets harder to breathe the higher you climb, and that can put the body under a lot of added stress.”

  Oleja listened intently. “I will keep it in mind, thank you. And what about seablood, what is that?”

  “No one is really sure,” said Wil. “We don’t just have any lying around, since it’s supposedly really difficult to get. People who have beaten all of the first four trials say the seablood trial is the hardest. But I guess it’s some kind of dark water. You should know it when you see it.”

  “All right,” said Oleja, though the answer clarified little. “And I know what iron looks like. I’m familiar with that one, at least.”

  “You have a more pressing issue, though,” said Cyrah. “Something to deal with before you even get to any of the trials. What are you going to do about the earthborn? The Itsoh envoy is still camped outside the city, and if you leave, you’ll be vulnerable—and alone.”

  “Well, I won’t be alone,” said Oleja, and reached a hand down to scratch behind Tor’s ears. His tongue slid from his mouth. “But as for what to do about them, I am off to figure that out next. But don’t worry—I will take care of them.
”

  She said goodbye to each of her friends in turn. They hugged her and patted Tor on the head. After a final round of well wishes, Oleja headed out, back into the street where she turned her course north.

  During her walk up the North Run, she kept her eyes and ears alert, watching Tor’s reactions carefully as well. If an eclipser approached, he would pick up on it well before her. Once again without a weapon—save her knife—she felt exposed, but she soon arrived at the forge.

  Tor remained outside, which didn’t surprise her, but she figured he could provide an early alarm in the event that eclipsers came crashing through the woods. Back inside, she found Sreovel still hard at work, as the hour had only just reached midday.

  “Oh, you’re back,” she said, a cautious look of hope coming over her face as she studied Oleja. Oleja held up the package containing the box, jars, and map. Light burst across Sreovel’s face. “Oh Oleja, that’s fantastic! Congratulations!”

  Back at her workbench, Oleja resumed her packing—faster now that hope and excitement powered her movements rather than frustration and disappointment. She placed the cloth bundle inside, though she removed the map and tucked it away in a side pocket. With her tinkering supplies restocked, she turned to Sreovel.

  “I have one issue, now, that stands between me and the trials. The envoy from Itsoh still lurks outside the city, and they will pursue me and take me as their prisoner—dead or alive, by whatever means necessary. And I am still without a proper weapon.”

  Sreovel thought for a moment. “What about a bow? You said that is your weapon of choice, yes? Not only will it allow you to take care of the envoy—if you mean to kill or injure them, that is, and I will not tell you what you should or should not do on that matter—but you could also use it to hunt, keeping your food needs in check during your journey.”

  “I had thought of that,” said Oleja, “but the earthborn wear armor of thick metal. I faced one while armed with a bow before, and the arrows glanced right off of his armor. I need something that will pierce it.”